Burning Thoughts
by teamfreewill82
Summary: Hi, everyone, this is my first ever published work on and I am SO excited! Please read and review as well with feedback. No flames please, and I really hope you enjoy it. T for a tiny but of swearing because this is Dean. Let's be real here. Love you all muchly and I hope you enjoy!


Hi, y'all!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters, as much as I wish I did; the show and all of its content goes to its respective owners**, one of which is Eric Kripke. Let us all just sit in silence for a moment in thanks to this wonderful man and whoever (whomever? haha) helped him come up with this incredible, amazing, AWESOME show! We love you all!

Thanks a billion for reading; it means the world to me! Please take a second at the end to review; I'd really appreciate some feedback. Please no rude comments- I've only just begun to actually publish my stuff. Thanks again!

Set at the end of season 5, episode 10- _Abandon All Hope _

Dean stared hard into the flames, her image blurring, the burning of his still eyes less profound then the thoughts that burned in his mind, the intense, searing pain in his heart. His expression was stony and hid his emotions. But it was harder than usual to keep the mask on. He could hardly believe she was gone, could still remember the day they'd met like it had been minutes before. His nose throbbed with the memory. Dean blinked and looked down. He shouldn't have let her go with them in the first place, should never had involved either Jo or her mother. Now two women he cared deeply for were lost to him, forever. He'd never see Jo smile again outside of his memories, or the way her eyes lit up in the adrenaline of a hunt. Why hadn't his mind allowed his feelings to surface before tonight? Before- this. Dean could express how he felt in saying that it felt like a large chunk of his heart had been removed and thrown into that fire along with their last picture together. He hadn't wanted it to be burned but also hadn't been able to speak up. His throat felt thick and dry, and words wouldn't force themselves from it to tell Bobby to leave the photograph as it had been, pinned to the wall with a tack.

He thought of Jo's face, her bravery through her tears, wanting to save them. He couldn't make himself- let himself believe that it was to save _him_ more than Sam. They were just friends, and ones that argued a lot, at that. But when this crossed Dean's mind he felt something deep inside his chest. It seemed to move towards his heart, and he knew what he was feeling. Regret. He'd never had the chance to be with Jo, to hold her. He could feel her lips still, faint on his from exhaustion, and swallowed, glancing to the carpet. The world had lost two amazing women, both of which he had no words to describe to the extent they deserved. He wished Jo hadn't stopped for him. That she'd kept going. That they all had. They'd be safe, and would have only lost one person rather than two. Why did he get to live, saved countless times, he and Sam, while Ellen and Jo, who hardly hunted, had to die? It seemed the world hated them, making one of her first injuries the most fatal.

Dean felt like smashing his fist into the wall, while at the same time feeling the last of his energy run out. He'd been running on fumes for the past couple hours after the explosion, pure adrenaline. He hardly ever became sore anymore, after so many years of training and work, but he thought that the next morning, not only would his muscles be stiff- his chest, his heart, would feel tight as well.

_ She was so beautiful_. And now she was gone.

Dean turned away from the burnt logs, her image long gone and the fire ashes. Sam reached out a hand to hold his shoulder, but Dean moved it from his brother's grasp, unable to handle anything at the moment, and went into the kitchen for a beer before he attempted sleep. He sat at the table, his hand a fist on the table. When he thought of Jo again his hand slammed angrily onto the table. "_Bastard_," he muttered to the God he didn't believe in, and if tonight were proof, for good reason. He cursed again, squeezing his thumbs into the corners of his eyes to keep his tears from escaping. He breathed in and out roughly; it hurt to breathe. Licking his lips after a sip of beer Dean pushed a hand through his hair, then shoved away from the table, leaving the half-empty bottle. He began his walk up the staircase and had to stop a few steps up to regain control over his emotions, his grip tight on the railing. With a shaky breath out he started again.

_God,_ _I love you, Jo._


End file.
